Computer Expert
by FrankandJoe3
Summary: Dick was REALLY good with computers. He was bound to get bored eventually.


**I was listening to Rich Kids by New Medicine, new favorite song, and I kept seeing Dick sing this with a little Jesse McCartney voice so I was like, eh, what the hell. And I LOVE this song so… (: I can just see Dick messing around with his computer skills to have fun singing. Read and review, if you would? Warning, this is very stupid (: **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song or the characters. **

Dick looked both ways, making sure he was going to be alone for this. If anyone walked in, he'd have a lot of explaining to do. When he decided that the silence was proof enough that he was alone, he scrambled onto the floor commonly used for sparring or mission briefing. He took off his hoodie, raising his hands into the air, slowly lowering his fingers which caused the lights to dim. Once it was dark, he pulled up his keyboard and typed rapidly, poking his tongue between his lips in thought. Suddenly, he was in a large purple box. He couldn't see out and hopefully, no one could see in.

He tapped the air once and waited for what seemed like forever before a, "_La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la_~" began to blast through the air around him. Dick grinned madly to himself before raising his right fist into the air.

"_Rich kids!_" some guy screamed.

The la's started up again before Dick suddenly struck the air, the sound of a drum beat cutting the la's off. He began to tap on the air, bobbing his head back and forth to the sudden drum beat that he was creating. Sure, he felt stupid, but he was thirteen. What else was he going to do in his free time? He stopped again and slowly raised both hands into the air.

"_Yo turn that_," he swiped his hand over his mouth to censor 'shit', just in case someone was listening in, "_up!_"

He went back to beating the air, bobbing his head in amusement. He stopped, circling a finger through the air to start the lyrics.

"_I coulda went to college like rich kids do," _the words began to dance over the air in white cursive, hugging the walls and fading once they'd been said.

Dick put his index and middle finger to his lips for the next line.

"_Buying weed,_" he brought his fingers away and a computerized wisp of smoke came from his lips, "_with the money that your mom sent you._"

He realigned his fingers and shook them, cutting the smoke away.

"_And I don't give a_," he swiped his hand in front of his lips with a giggle to censor 'damn', "_bout no higher degree_!"

He walked to the opposite side of the box with a swagger of a sort, holding a proud smirk.

"_Cause you know in rock-n-roll,_" he held one hand equal with his shoulders and swung his other arm in a circle, causing a big guitar to land his hands.

He bobbed his head, making his hair sway.

"_I got a P.H.D.,_" he dropped the guitar so it shattered at his feet into computerized pieces, hiding his mouth to bleep out 'bitch'.

He went back to drumming the air, flipping his bangs from his eyes so he could see where he was hitting the air. He raised his left hand, then his right, causing two voices to cut into the beat before he went back to drumming.

"_That's right_!" "_Kids_!"

He pushed the air, cutting the drum away and punched the air, starting his swagger to cue the lyrics back.

"_We got all that we need," _the voice started.

Dick moved his hands through the air, mimicking moving a steering wheel. A white stalker van suddenly materialized around him, bringing an excited giggle to himself. This was cool.

"_Packed it up in the van. Put the pedal to the floor,_" Dick stomped his foot to the floor and the van stormed off without him.

He quickly waved his hand in front of his fist, causing his middle finger to be blurred, "_Gave the finger to the man!_"

He mocked straightening a tie and suddenly, he looked like he was dressed for Gotham with a fancy tie and combed back hair. His dark blue eyes sparkled as he grinned even wider.

"_I'm not a rich kid, maybe that's a good thing!_" he sang along, running up one of the walls and flipping off, pumping his fists into the air.

A distinctive, "_Hey!_" started to repetitively play itself.

"_Ain't got,_" Dick censored 'shit', sighing with a smile at the act, "_but I got this far! Keeping it real and rhyming and stealing!_"

He held his hands up, as if holding cell bars and he was in a prison jumpsuit, his name in numbers on the back: 48310.

"_Doing what I want!_"

He shook his right hand up and down, still holding the cell bar and a computerized gun was suddenly in his hand. He dropped his left hand to his side, keeping the gun in his right. He dashed back, shooting at the wall to trigger the next words like he'd practiced.

"_Oh, ay, oh!_"

Dick shot the ceiling, typing something quickly with his free hand. Computerized money began to rain down on him.

"_Got no money but it's always…_"

Dick discarded the gun brought his hands together, his index fingers and thumbs forming a triangle, quickly spacing it. A fake sun popped out, making fake rays of sun turn the purple box a lighter color.

"_Always sunny, honey!_"

"Oh yeah, that's right," Dick smirked, folding his arms over his chest.

"_Always sunny, honey!_" the voice repeated.

Dick quickly brought his fists to his side and bowed his head, the music cutting. He waited until the purple box slowly faded into the original dark shade. He giggled happily, shrugging off the jumpsuit so he was standing there in the white wifebeater shirt, pulling his shades out from his pocket and slipping them back over his eyes. He crossed to the corner with his jacket and slipped it over his head. When he looked like he had before he entered the box, he typed a few commands into the air as a keyboard formed under his fingers. The box died around him and he looked around, hoping he was alone. Almost.

Just one person was watching: Wally. The ginger's eyes were excited and he had a large grin settled over his face.

"You _have _to teach me how to do that."

**I know the computer can't do this. Whatever, let me dream. If you don't like it, don't review. Simple enough? I don't want criticism. Sorry this is stupid, but I know you can see little Dick doing this. Don't deny it. **

**-F.J. **


End file.
